A calendar hung on the wall of a dimly lit office, its pages catching the low glow of neon reflections. The date was clear—only two weeks until New Year’s Day. The upcoming day was boldly circled in red, a silent countdown to the endgame.

  Kuroda’s steady hand, rough yet precise, had made that mark not once, but twice—an unmistakable decration of intent.

  He muttered to himself as he circled the date again, lips curling into a tight, controlled smirk.

  “Chizuru will handle her part. That means the boy… Watari…,” he growled under his breath.

  “He wasn’t part of my pn, a hidden potential no one asked for. I don’t need some wannabe protagonist stealing the spotlight in my grand design. You were never meant to rise—stay in the shadows where you belong.”

  With those words, his eyes flickered with cold resolve. Determination and a hint of disdain mixed in his gaze as he shifted his focus.

  Kuroda strode to a sleek, armored super chopper parked outside. As he climbed aboard, he barked orders to the pilot with measured authority.

  “Set course for New York. You know the building—I want the view from there.”

  The rotor bdes sliced the sky as the chopper ascended, cutting through the early dusk like a silver bullet.

  In the cabin’s dim interior, Kuroda pulled from his coat the vial of blood once more. Its crimson contents pulsed, echoing his own simmering ambition.

  He held it up briefly, a promise whispered in the shadows.

  “Just you wait,” he murmured, the words heavy with promise.

  “We will be united once again, my dear Ancient.”

  The chopper nded atop a towering building, its rooftop offering a panoramic view of New York City—a vast, sprawling canvas of concrete and neon.

  Kuroda stepped out, the wind tangling his coat as he surveyed the city. In one hand, he cradled one of the pulsating cores, its surface cold and unnervingly smooth to the touch.

  He allowed himself a long, appraising look at the myriad of tiny, scurrying figures below.

  The city sprawled out like a field of ants, each life insignificant in the grand design he had meticulously pnned.

  His voice, low and cutting, broke the silence of the twilight.

  “In two weeks,” he said, eyes narrowing as he fingered the core, “this entire ndscape will be unrecognizable. I will reshape it—transform these countless ants into something new, something worthy of my vision.”

  “I will be the king, the architect of salvation—a ruler guiding them to a new era.”

  A cold, minxing smirk curled on his lips as the camera slowly panned over the sprawling cityscape.

  The promise of change, of inevitable domination, lingered in the air as the view slowly faded to bck.